


Up and Out

by rosepose



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Complete, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fix-It, Grief/Mourning, Grieving Dean Winchester, M/M, Post-Episode: s15e18 Despair
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-15
Updated: 2020-12-31
Packaged: 2021-03-10 21:20:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,603
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28093797
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rosepose/pseuds/rosepose
Summary: "That was the first time Dean thought he might die, and that was what it felt like to sit on the floor of that room without him."Post-15x18 except Dean never got up off the floor and he can't let Cas go.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester, Eileen Leahy/Sam Winchester (mentioned), Jack Kline & Dean Winchester & Sam Winchester
Comments: 8
Kudos: 89





	1. Part One

**Author's Note:**

> I, like many of us, didn't plan on getting sucked back into this show. But now I feel like it made me a promise that it didn't keep, so here's my attempt at a "fix-it." Enjoy.

_I love you._

When Dean was twelve, his dad took him and Sam on a hunt in Vermont. It was a simple haunting—just a salt and burn. John had taken both of them to the graveyard that night, and they’d sat there while he worked—digging and digging and…

Dean didn’t remember exactly how he’d gotten there, but there was a lake next to the graveyard, frozen over in the dead of winter. He must have wandered over, bored at the dull clang of the shovel against the ground. He put a foot forward, onto the ice. Then another, then another. He didn’t know why, but each step away from land exhilarated him, made him feel strong. He’d made four steps before he heard it. 

_Crack_. 

There was no time to think. He cried out at the shock, a numbing pain that both paralyzed and penetrated. He took in mouthfuls of water, his lungs aching, expending themselves. He banged against the ice. Where had he come from? 

That was the first time Dean thought he might die, and that was what it felt like to sit on the floor of that room without him. There was no time to say anything. No time to think. He’d opened his mouth only for the air to catch in his throat. His lungs were flooded once again. They burned. The skin on his arm burned where Castiel had touched it—for the first and last time, he realized. 

There would be no one to pull him up and out. Not now.

He didn’t know how long it was that he sat there. Minutes? Hours? He couldn’t bring himself to move. To move would be to acknowledge that Cas was gone, and he couldn’t. How? There was so much he wanted to say. And now he couldn’t, not even in his prayers. The words had been poised on his tongue. _I love you too._ That would have been kind. Kinder than, “Don’t do this.” It would have been a thank you. But Dean was selfish, and his first thought was to beg for him to stay. 

What was the point without him?

Eventually—Dean couldn’t estimate when—a frantic voice broke through the haze of Dean’s sorrow. “Dean? Dean!” It was Sam, looking for him. His footsteps stomped closer, closer until they stopped cold. Dean didn’t move his head to look at his brother. He just let it dangle, too heavy for his neck now. 

“Dean?” Sam tried again, from the doorway. It was hesitant, as if there was a threat he couldn’t yet discern. “Dean, what happened? Dean. Why didn’t you answer?” Sam’s voice sounded dull and garbled. Unreal. Nothing was real. He made no move when his brother approached him, crouching to examine him in his defeated state. 

Sam put a hand on Dean’s shoulder, near where Cas had touched him, and Dean recoiled, falling limply onto his side. “No!” he cried out, and it was like it was happening all over again, the blackness. He wished it would have taken him. Why couldn’t it take him too. “Don’t touch me,” he sobbed. “Don’t touch me, don’t touch me, don’t—” he repeated it, like a mantra, until it was the only thing he could think anymore. _Don’t touch me._ He wanted to lay there until he starved, until he withered and died. 

“Dean…” came Sam’s voice again. It sounded hoarse and ragged, like he might be crying too. “Dean, where’s Cas?”

_Where’s Cas?_

Dean let his eyes flutter shut. It wasn’t like he could see anymore, anyway. 

**______ **

Dean woke again in his bed, under the covers. The blankets felt heavier than usual. It seemed like Sam had piled extras on top of him. He rubbed his eyes and turned over, seeing Sam’s outline through the blurriness. He hadn’t dreamt. For once in his life, he hadn’t dreamt at all. The pang of loss hit him as he remembered. 

“Dean?” Sam said, his eyes perking up. “Awake?”

Dean grunted and wiped a hand over his face, sitting up. “Sadly.”

“I don’t know how to tell you this…” Sam started.

“Tell me what? That everything’s fucked?” Dean bit, huffing an exhale. His ribs felt sore from crying.

“It wasn’t Billie.”

Dean’s stomach dropped at the name. “What are you talking about, Sammy?”

“It was Chuck. The whole time, it was Chuck.” Sam said, massaging the space between his eyebrows. He looked like he hadn’t slept, and there was a coldness to his words, like he was on the edge of rage. Dean knew that measured tone all too well. _Oh, Sammy_ , Dean thought. He’d lost someone too. “It wasn’t just people on Death’s list, Dean. It was everyone.”

Everyone...everyone. Dean didn’t speak. He couldn’t help but think he could have dealt with it. He would have if he had Cas. But as far as Dean was concerned, he already lost the whole world before he even knew. “Cas.” Dean whispered. It was so soft that he thought Sam wouldn’t hear it. 

“I don’t understand what happened, Dean,” Sam said. “Jack is still here. So why not Cas?”

Jack was still there. That was something. A piece of Cas. “He saved me. From Billie. He...summoned the Empty.”

They sat there in silence for a minute, two—it was hard to say. “Can Jack...Do you think…?” Dean said, slowly. 

Sam looked up, meeting Dean’s eyes. “Dean, I don’t think—”

“Can he or not?” Dean snapped, tears welling up in him.

Sam softened. “I-I don’t know,” he sputtered. “We’d have to see.”

Dean lifted the blankets off himself and swung his legs over the bed in one swift motion. “Then let’s go see,” he said through his teeth.

**______ **

Jack frowned and tilted his head, and for a moment he looked just like Cas. Dean blinked, grounding himself back in the moment. He braced against the back of a chair in the map room. “It seemed very angry the last time I showed up,” he said, looking down in thought. “I’m not sure what would happen if I went back there.”

“Well you’re not exploding anything this time,” Dean said. “You-you just have to find him and....and just...just wake him up. And—”

Sam crossed in front of Jack. “And what, Dean? We still don’t have a plan for how to take out Chuck—”

“We’re not doing anything until we get Cas back! Understand?” Sam always with his practicality, his caution. Getting Cas back _was_ practical. “We need him. We can’t do it without him.”

Jack and Sam shared a look of what Dean knew was pity. Dean bit down hard on the inside of his cheek. He could do this. This was something he could _do_ . Dead wasn’t gone. Not in this world. Not for Castiel. “What if we lose Jack, Dean?” Sam said, his voice quiet and tentative. He was always the negotiator, the guy saying, _Put the gun down. Nobody needs to get hurt._ Dean didn’t care anymore. He couldn’t see straight. He couldn’t feel anything except anger and determination. 

“Let the kid speak for himself,” Dean said, his words level and measured. He could be calm too.

“Castiel...is my father,” Jack said, looking to Sam with wide eyes. He turned to Dean, his eyebrows knitted with his usual optimistic resoluteness. “I’ll do it.”

Dean shot a look at Sam, whose mouth was pressed into a disapproving line. “It’s settled, then. Cas, here we come.”

**______ **

There was just one problem. They didn’t actually know how they would get Jack to the Empty. Or if they could at all. They sat at the wooden table, looking through books. Dean tried to make his eyes focus on some passage about angel death in _The Enochian Myth: Volume 8_. He glanced over at Sam, who’d cracked open another book, but Dean could tell when he was invested, and he wasn’t. He was distracted. Paying half-attention. 

_He lost someone, too,_ a voice reminded him. It was quiet and small. No, no. It didn’t matter. They’d get them all back. Everyone. And everyone included Cas. He returned his attention to the passage. 

_When an angel dies, it is thrust into eternal nothingness. This nothingness will be referred to here as the Great Empty. It exists Nowhere, out of Time and Space. It is elusive and enduring. It may only be summoned by Death, or the promise of it._

“It may only be summoned by Death, or the promise of it.” Dean repeated. “What does that mean, Sammy?”

Sam looked up, sighing. “It means we can’t do a spell to get there.”

“So...then we do it the way Cas did it. To talk to Ruby.”

“No, Dean.” Sam stood up, lowering his voice. He looked behind him. Jack had gone to look for more books in another room. “We don’t even know that Jack would go to the Empty if he…” Sam looked down. 

“Bullshit. He’s close enough.”

Sam walked over to Dean and towered over him where he sat. “He lost all his grace before and he didn’t die. We couldn’t bring him to the brink even if we wanted to. He’s at full strength again.”

Dean shook his head. “We could try. You said it yourself that he’s strong. He could handle it.”

“After we figure all this out…”

Dean felt it again. That pang, like a knife in his chest, carving at his insides. “You don’t get it. We take out God? Fine. Everything back to normal. You get Eileen back. And Cas? Cas stays dead. Team Free Will...that dream...It ain’t nothing without him.”

“I miss him too, Dean.”

Dean stood up, slamming the chair against the table. He couldn’t hold it back anymore. Not even in front of Sam. He grabbed the angel book and chucked it against the wall. “Like hell you do! He _sacrificed himself_ , Sam! And you know what he fucking said?” His vision blurred, and he tried to focus, blinking the wetness out of his eyes. His voice faltered, falling to something more pathetic, more pained than a whisper. “He said he loved me.”

Sam frowned as if to say, _What are you saying?_ But he didn’t say that. Only, “Dean…” His shoulders relaxed, and he walked forward, tentatively. 

Dean wanted to run away. He wished he could evaporate where he stood, but he couldn’t move. He let Sam wrap his arms around him. “I can’t leave it like that, Sam.” he said into his brother's shoulder. “I just can’t.”

“I think I know another way.” 


	2. Part Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean goes to the empty.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had initially planned for this to only be two parts, but I guess there was a lot more to say than anticipated. Stay tuned!

“What’re you talking about?” Dean asked, but by the end of his sentence, Sam had already booked it down the hall and out of the library. 

Jack walked back in, holding an especially thick tome. “I think I found it! It’s heavy,” he beamed. “Where’s Sam?”

“Sammy?” Dean called. 

“The key!” came Sam’s faraway shout.

“The what?”

After a moment, Sam returned, panting slightly. “Here.” He held up the key to Death’s library, and Dean locked eyes with the skull on its handle. 

Dean deadpanned. “How is that going to help us?”

Without answering, Sam walks over to an open book on the table. It was the same one that Dean had read earlier, before his meltdown. “That passage you read,” he said, tapping his finger at the page, “‘It may only be summoned by Death, or the promise of it.’”

Dean sighed. Even at the end of existence, Sammy still couldn’t find it in him to get to the goddamned point. “Yeah?”

“I think it’s instructions.”

“What do you mean?” Jack chimed. Dean almost startled at the sound. He’d crept up to the table so quietly that Dean scarcely noticed. “I thought I couldn’t get there the same way Castiel did.”

A faint smile spread across Sam’s face, that sort of triumphant look he got whenever he’d figured something out. “When you _did_ go to the Empty, it was because Death literally sent you there.”

“Yeah, but Billie is dead.” Dean said, “And so are all the reapers.”

“We don’t know that for sure.” 

Dean scoffed. “I’m pretty sure, Sam. I was there.”

“Look,” Sam reasoned, “If we can find one reaper still alive, then we have Death. And if we have Death, then we have our way into the Empty _and_ we have someone who can read God’s book.”

“It sounds like a good plan,” Jack said with a pensive stare at the angel book, “I’ll go.”

Dean and Sam shared a look, although Dean knew they didn’t agree on what to say next. “Jack—” Sam began.

“I’m going.” said Dean, with a crack of his neck.

“What?” Almost in unison, Jack and Sam turned their heads.

“To the Empty.” Dean clarified, rolling up his sleeves. He grabbed the key out of Sam’s grip and held it up to the light. “If the kid doesn’t have to go, then it’s gonna be me.”

“I’m coming—”

Dean shook his head. “No, Sam. I can handle it. I can handle a reaper. You stay here with Jack.” What if something were to happen to the both of them? At least, Dean thought, if he died, he’d die knowing he did everything he could for Cas. 

No, that wasn’t true.  
  


* * *

After he’d said his piece, he got no more resistance. Gripping his angel blade, Dean took the key and pressed it into the brick wall of the bunker’s library. Even though it was his second time doing it, he still startled a bit when the door actually appeared. Now, all he had to do was just...open it. He glanced behind him, Jack and Sam standing helplessly across the room. Sam pressed his mouth into a line, biting something back. _Good_. Dean wouldn’t hear it anyway. He pushed forward on the door.

Dean squinted through the rush of pale light, proceeding with caution into the bookcases. He recalled the first time he’d come here, his death wish, lamenting about being unable to save everyone. He still felt that guilt. What was he for if he couldn’t save the people who needed him? Now, here he was again, and not much had changed. It was worse, worse than he could’ve ever imagined. Those people? Cas, his mom—hell, the whole goddamn world—he’d _gotten_ a second chance to protect them. And he failed.

This time he’d make it right. Or die trying. 

* * *

Dean’s footsteps reverberated throughout the library, filling his ear against the place’s eerie silence. He looked up, realizing that by some cruel joke, he’d ended up in the _W_ section. He veered over to the side, running his fingers over the tops of the books. They weren’t stacked as high as before, and he felt a desperate desire to know which one would be his. There weren’t as many, but there were still a lot. He tried to take a breath.

 _  
I still have a choice_.   
  


It wasn’t all set in stone, and not even Chuck could read the ending. He pressed forward, out of the _W_ shelves and toward Death’s desk. 

Of course, there was no one at the desk. He turned, whipping his head around. “Hello? Anybody?” Maybe it was a dumb move, giving himself away, but he didn’t have any more patience. “Hello?” he repeated, stalking parallel to the bookcases, inspecting each aisle. 

That’s when he heard it. A sharp inhale, like a gasp. Or a sob. He quickened his pace, looking, looking, until… 

He’d made it all the way to the _C_ s when he saw her. He stopped cold, locking eyes with her. She sat with her knees drawn to her chest, and her eyes widened at the sight of him, her gaze darting from his blade to his face and back again. She made a frantic shuffle to get off the floor, using the bookshelves to steady her. 

Dean looked down at the angel blade. “Wait!” he called. He tucked the knife into the back of his waistband, raising his palms. “I’m not here to hurt you.”

She scoffed, standing upright. She dusted off the knees of her pants. “How would I know that?”

Dean shrugged. “You’d be dead by now.” He paused. “I’m—” 

“I know,” she interjected, “Everyone. Knows.”

He cleared his throat, attempting to diffuse the tension. “Right. You’re a reaper?”

Her eyes dimmed. “No, I’m a librarian.”

“Alright, well that’s a lot of sass for someone who was afraid for their life two seconds ago.”

She crossed her arms. “Why are you here?” 

“I need your help.”

Slowly, she crept forward to meet him. “And why would I help you?”

“I got some info about Death that you’re gonna wanna hear.”

The reaper’s eyebrows raised. “And what would that be?”

“No, no, no,” Dean shook his head. “First you gotta agree to help.”

“Help with what?”

“I need to get to the Empty.”

The reaper grasped the bookshelf again, the confidence she’d seemingly gained slinking backwards into terror, uncertainty. Before he’d even finished, she said, “No. No. Why would you even…?”

Dean grunted, and shifted his weight on his feet. He became aware of the cool metal pressed against his back. He didn’t have time for this. Maybe he could speed up the process, get her to agree by more persuasive means. He heard Sam’s voice in his head, chiding him. _Dean, no. We need her to read God’s book._ Of course, imaginary Sam was right. Once she became Death, however timid she seemed now, she’d be hard to control. He sighed, clasping his hands together. “I need to wake up someone.”

“No. Absolutely not. The Empty _killed_ all of us. It almost would have gotten me… It doesn’t like being awake. It gets volatile. Angry.”

“I don’t give a rat’s ass what it does or doesn’t like. I’m getting there. And you’re helping me.” He paused to examine her. Her fear was still present, veiled thinly by a newfound anger. “Look, once I tell you what I know, the Empty’s not going to be able to touch you. Trust me.”

“I don’t trust you at all,” she said, but her voice had leveled. She was ready to listen. She pushed her shoulders back, her arms falling by her side. “Tell me what you know.”

“First you gotta agree.”

“Fine,” she said with a shrug. It felt a little too non-committal for Dean’s taste. 

“Great,” Dean gave her a wide, close-lipped smile. “You betray me, I kill you.”

“Great,” she echoed.

* * *

“Billie is...dead?” The reaper, who’d introduced herself as Betty, sat across from Dean at the bunker’s wood table. She stared ahead, gears turning. 

“Which means there’s a job opening.” said Dean. 

Jack and Sam sat on either side of him, and for a moment, neither spoke, waiting for Betty’s answer with bated breath. Finally, Sam said, “If you’re the only reaper left…” Sam began.

“If I die, I’ll become Death.” Dean tried to read her expression, but it was somewhere between disbelief, terror, and hope. She took a breath, and her lips fell into a slight grin. “Death,” she said again, like she was testing out a new name, seeing how it felt. “Okay.”

Dean shared a look with Sam before turning back to Betty. “So…?”

She reached her hand across the table. “Give me the angel blade. I’ll do it.”

“A-are you sure?” Sam asked, but Dean had already slapped the thing into her hand.

Betty held the blade up, eyeing it with wonder. Then, without another beat or a word of warning, she plunged it into her stomach. Her head fell onto the table with a _thud._

Sam and Jack let out yelps of surprise at the suddenness of it, but Dean didn’t so much as flinch. Instead, he lowered his head to look at hers, his focus heightened. For a few seconds, there was silence, worry, perhaps, that it hadn’t worked. 

But, as expected, Betty reanimated, sitting upright once again. Her chest inflated with a dramatic intake of air. She shook the hair out of her face, a wild, triumphant look in her eye, made a little noise in her throat that Dean thought could have been a giggle. “Where’s the book?” was the first thing she said. 

“Empty first.” said Dean. _Don’t make me regret this_ , he thought. 

Betty regarded Dean blankly, with a slight turn of her head, like she’d almost forgotten what he was referring to. “Fine,” she sighed, “If you insist.” She lifted her hand.

Sam turned to Dean with concern. “Wait, Dean how will you get—”

Before he could finish, Betty had waved her arm, and Dean was gone.

* * *

Dean opened his eyes to nothing, blackness, and for a second he worried he’d somehow gone blind. “Are you kidding me?” drawled a voice from behind him. He whipped around. Still nothing. Then, somehow, he could see again. Via some overhead spotlight from nowhere, he saw it. The Empty sat in its chair, cross-legged, fuming. It still wore Meg’s form. “Your little nephilim pet almost killed me!”

It raised a hand at him, and he felt his throat close. He gasped, taking in what little air he could. _Cas_ , he thought, _Cas, I’m here._ He tried to speak, to get it to stop. “Bil-l—” he choked out. 

“Sorry, I don’t think I can hear you,” it said, tightening its grip around his neck. 

He could feel the blackness returning again, only now it felt comforting, familiar. Maybe he could just let himself fall... _No._ “Bill—” he tried again. 

“Fine,” it said, lowering its arm, “Explain yourself. You have ten seconds.” Dean gasped and coughed, heaving the air back into his lungs. “Nine, eight…”

“It was Billie. She betrayed you.”

It yawned. “I knew that. Seven, six…”

“She made Jack into a bomb and sent him here. She didn’t care about you getting to sleep.”

The Empty twitched, its head jerking to the side at un unsettling tempo. “Neither do you!” It screeched. “Three, two…”

“Listen, I’m just here for Cas.”

The Empty stopped twitching, seemingly intrigued. “Castiel? No, that angel and I have a deal. And no one seems to keep up their end of the bargain these days. You can’t have him.”

Dean stiffened. “Well, I’m not asking.”

The Empty gave Dean a wicked smile. “Time’s up.”

His knees buckles beneath him, suddenly overcome with a radiating pain. His head throbbed and ached as if it were being stabbed in a thousand different places. The pain burned so bright that it felt white-hot. It consumed him. He covered his temples with his hands and drew his knees to his chest. _Cas,_ he thought, _Cas, wake up_ , but his mouth couldn’t form the words. 

Then, through the haze of his pain, he regained control. Just for a moment. He let out a strangled breath, an agonized howl before, “Cas! Castiel!” 

Exhausted by the agony in his head, his body, Dean let himself go limp, closing his eyes. 

_Wake up, Cas._

_I love you, too._

  
  
  
  



	3. Part Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean and Cas come together, finally.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy New Year's Eve! What a year this has been. I'm glad I could finish it off by completing this fic. Thank you for your kind words on the previous chapters! 
> 
> Trigger Warning: some gore and violence

Just as suddenly as it had set in, the pain stopped. For a moment, curled on the floor of—wherever he was—he didn’t even notice, still spasming in the aftershocks. 

Then came a voice, clear and deep and utterly unmistakable, “You’ll never get back to sleep if you do that.” _Cas._

“We had a _deal_ , angel.” the Empty hissed.

“It doesn’t matter. Now that I’m awake, I can’t go back to sleep. You know that. And you can’t keep him here—he’s human.”

Dean rolled over, forcing his eyes open. There he was, in that trench coat, his head upturned and jaw clenched—ready for a fight. Dean reached his arm out, opening his mouth to speak—he couldn’t.

Castiel’s gaze panned downward, regarding him with a tilt of his head, a frown...no, a _smile_. “C-ca—“ Dean sputtered.

The Empty screamed. A loud, inhuman shriek that pierced Dean’s ears. He pressed his hands to either side of his head. “You’re not going anywhere!”

The chair beneath the Empty’s form disappeared, and it leaned back, letting its arms dangle behind it. Blackness poured out of each orifice of its face, oozing, shooting outwards like appendages. 

“Dean!” Castiel shouted. He dove at Dean and slid towards him, enveloping him in an embrace. Like instinct, Dean wrapped his arms around Cas, tight, chin digging into his shoulder. “You have to hold on,” Cas said.

Before Dean could think to respond, the blackness was descending on them both. He didn’t feel anything, a sort of calm, maybe. Soon, the Empty ran over his hands, up his neck, at the corners of his eyes. 

In his last moments of consciousness, Dean thought only, _Hold me._

* * *

When Dean’s eyes opened once again, he was surprised, needless to say. Even more surprising—a certain blue-eyed angel stood over him, offering his hand. “Cas?” Dean tested. He took Cas’ hand and let himself be pulled upright.

He looked around. They stood on a road, somewhere in the middle of nowhere, at night. The sky seemed angry, flickering with clouds red and purple, stars nowhere to be seen. Dean looked to Castiel. He reached out and touched his face, cupping Cas’ cheek in his hand. “Am I dead, Cas?”

Castiel didn’t respond immediately, and Dean wondered if Cas might be taking him in too, seeing if he was real. “It’s...complicated.”

“What do you mean, it’s complicated?”

“What I mean is that I don’t know. We’re asleep. I hoped that if I held onto you, our dreams would merge. It seems I was right.”

Dean looked around again. A clap of thunder shook the ground beneath him. “What’s going on?”

“Dean, I need you to listen. We might lose lucidity. And if that happens, you’ll start thinking what you’re seeing is real. We might lose each other.”

“No, Cas. I...I can’t lose you again.” Dean grabbed Castiel’s hand. 

Castiel shook his head. “Dean, you could’ve just left it alone. I’d made my choice.” He wasn’t looking at Dean anymore, his eyes falling just past him.

“Yeah well it was a shitty choice, Cas! A fucking dumb choice. It was cruel.”

Cas’ eyes met Dean’s again. “Cruel?” he asked. It was a genuine question, and that fact alone plunged a knife into Dean’s chest.

“Yes, _cruel_ , Cas. To just _say that_ and leave me before—“

Castiel frowned, tilting his head. “Before what, Dean?”

_Before I could say it back._

“I—“ Dean started. But Cas wasn’t there anymore. He looked down, and realized _he_ wasn’t there anymore, either. “Cas? Cas!”

* * *

Dean now stood in the hallway of a hospital, outside a room. He peered through the window and almost fell backwards, the world feeling dizzy. Inside, laying in bed, was Lisa. Ben stood beside her, leaned over with his head on her chest. _No_ , Dean thought, _No, no no._ He tried to turn away, but he couldn’t move his head. Inside, Lisa began to sob, running her hand over the nape of Ben’s neck.

A voice began to whisper in his ear, _You did this._

_You did this._

_You did this._

_You—_

At once, Lisa and Ben’s heads lifted to look at Dean through the glass. They looked distraught, angry. They mouthed along with the voice, contempt in their eyes. _You did this._

Dean felt something inside of him break, and he started to cry, deep, guttural noises rattling throughout his body and out of his mouth. He tried to close his eyes, he _needed_ to, but he couldn’t. 

Just when he thought he might be stuck there forever, the hospital began to fall away, breaking into shattered pieces around him, revealing a deep, black void. A hole in the floor opened at his feet and he fell, hurtling—towards where, he didn’t know. 

* * *

He landed with a thud that reverberated through his skull. But it didn’t hurt. It seemed that here, the hurting would be much worse than that of a deadly fall. 

He just wanted...What did he want? Why was he here?

Suddenly, the world turned vertical, and Dean was on his feet, knife in hand. A sick excitement welled up in him, one he knew all too well. He felt a smile spread across his face, and his hand twirled the knife with precision, all of its own accord. He didn’t want this. He _didn’t._

Before the deep, orange-red, and before the sour smell of shredded flesh—he heard her scream. She looked at him, fear in her eyes, only eighteen he somehow knew. He laughed. It disgusted him, but he laughed. Dean tore a slow, deliberate line from her shoulder to her hip.

The screaming continued—animalistic, raw, pathetic. “Keep screaming,” he said, darkly. “Music to my ears.” 

He _wanted_ to stop. He did, and he didn’t. That wasn’t Dean anymore, but he could feel the part that still was. And it was wild, giddy. 

“S-sto-st…”

“S-s-sto, s-s-s!” he mocked her. “Can’t quite hear you. It’s too loud down here.”

He watched himself... _slicing_ , until her skin was more red than brown, more oozing and stripped than taut and youthful. 

Eventually, she stopped screaming.

* * *

When the world changed again, it replaced his wicked confidence with fear, as deep and primal as the girl’s had been. But there was something else, too: grief. Dean’s eyes opened at the sound of a voice, the one that had been both his salvation and his ruin. 

“You changed me, Dean,” Castiel said, in that awful, resigned way that Dean would never forget. “I love you.”

_I love you, too,_ Dean thought. His mind was ablaze, shouting, _I love you, too_. But his mouth remained closed. He struggled, writhing against the frightful stillness of his body. 

Nothing. 

_You did nothing_ , hissed that voice again, _You said nothing_. 

_You are nothing._

Dean gaped at Cas. He looked at peace, like he’d accepted his fate long ago. And he’d been so sure of it that he bet his life on it. _You did nothing, like he knew you would._

_Cas_ , he thought, _Cas, don’t go. Give me a chance._  
  


Everything he’d ever touched fell apart in his hands. Dean always thought it was better to leave Cas intact, not to trouble him with his brokenness, his deflection, his cruelty.

Dean couldn’t say that he didn’t know how Cas felt. He did. In that place in his soul where he buried things deep, Dean knew. It was easier to believe that Cas, an angel, couldn’t love someone like him. Then he wouldn’t have to entertain the idea that, maybe….

Dean remembered, and a jolt ran through him. He remembered. Cas… 

This was...What was it?

A dream. 

He looked at Cas--tearful, lovely, beautiful Cas. “I love you,” he said.

* * *

The interrogation room of the bunker faded into darkness, Cas with it. The blackness returned, but something about it was different. Dean turned and saw someone sprawled across the floor, wrapped up in a familiar shade of beige. 

He ran. As fast as his legs could take him, he ran, collapsing at the figure’s side. “Cas,” he sobbed, “Cas, I found you.”

Dean shook him. “Cas, wake up.”

A moment passed, and Dean thought to shake him again, harder. Before he could try, Castiel awakened with a gasp, panting as he inhaled the life back into himself. Dean pressed his face into the crook of Cas’ neck, shedding tears onto his skin. “Dean? Is that…?”

Dean nodded into him. “It’s me, Cas.”

Castiel sighed. “Okay, Dean.”

“Get. Out.” came a snarl from behind them. It was the Empty. 

Without turning, Dean smiled. He looked into Cas’ bewildered eyes and felt anchored. “Cas comes with me,” he said, “Or I’ll keep waking up. I’ll keep coming back. I’ll never let you sleep again."

The Empty made a sound, something like a growl, long and loud but Dean couldn’t bring himself to care. He put a hand on Cas’ shoulder and squeezed. 

“Cas?”

“Yes, Dean?”

“I love you, too.”

* * *

With his face buried in Castiel’s neck, Dean didn’t notice at first that he was back in the bunker. 

“Dean!” Sam yelled, grabbing at Dean’s shoulder.

“Castiel!” Jack exclaimed.

He pried his face away from Cas and looked around. Jack and Sam stood over him, and Betty loomed over at the corner of the library, observing. “Y-you did it,” Sam managed, “You got him.”

Dean stood slowly, helping Cas up as he did. “Dean,” Castiel said with severity. 

Dean looked at him, eyes wide. “Cas?”

“You...You raised me from perdition.” The angel’s face erupted into a grin, and Dean laughed, relief overwhelming him.

“Dean?” came Sam’s tentative voice, “Betty...she read God’s book. We know the ending.”

“Okay,” Dean breathed, eyes on Cas, who stared back at him with an intensity he’d never felt before. Dean snaked an arm around Castiel’s waist, pulling him closer.

After a moment, Sam spoke again, clearing his throat. “Dean, we’ve got to—”

“First,” Dean said, “I gotta do something important.”

Without missing a beat, Dean leaned down and kissed Cas. It was deep and warm—Cas was so soft. With each rake of his teeth and flit of his tongue he said, again, and again, _I love you, I love you._ His fingers pressed into Castiel’s back, hooking into the loops of his coat. He tried to fit everything he’d never said, everything he was too scared to think, into this one embrace. He pressed on, and this one kiss—this moment, felt like a lifetime to Dean. 

It didn’t matter to him at all what the book said.

Cas was Dean’s ending.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's all. I hope it filled a hole for you; I know it did for me. This is my first Destiel fic, and I really enjoyed it. I may have to write for Dean and Cas more in the future. 
> 
> Thank you so, so much for reading!
> 
> -rosepose


End file.
